


Our Town

by scullywolf



Series: TXF: Scenes in Between [48]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:04:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4723595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullywolf/pseuds/scullywolf





	Our Town

_“That water had hardly any current, and this level of erosion wouldn’t be confined to just the ends of the bones.”_   
_“Any theories?”_   
_“Maybe.”_

Mulder stood as he brought the phone to his ear. Scully looked up at him, brow furrowed. He ignored her pointed gaze, as he sometimes did when he was focused on a potential lead. She might have found it infuriating if she didn’t also do the same thing to him on occasion.

“Hey, Danny, it’s Mulder. Call me back when you get this. I’m on my cell.” He disconnected the call, slipped the phone into his pants pocket and shrugged out of his jacket. “Is there a computer I can use in the lab back here?”

“Yeah, I used it earlier to type up my notes. It should still be logged in. Why?”

“I think I may have an idea about what might have caused the polished appearance of the bones, but I want to do a little research first.”

She nodded. “Okay.” 

Setting the femur and magnifying lens aside, she sat up straight to stretch her back, closing her eyes and grimacing. She’d been working through the night, sorting through the pile of skeletal remains brought up from the waterway, and she was definitely feeling the effects this morning. The concrete morgue floor was not the kindest surface on which to spend hours doing incredibly tedious work. 

She stood and made a slow circuit of the room, stretching her stiff legs and hips. _Coffee_ , she thought, and made her way through the lab to the coffee machine in the hallway. She nodded at the sheriff before pouring herself a cup and returning to the lab. Mulder was chewing on a pen, his eyes fixed on the computer screen. She pulled out a chair at a table across the room from him and sat down, nursing her coffee and listening to the intermittent clicking of the keyboard. Far too soon, the cup was empty; she stood with a quiet sigh and returned to the morgue and the pile of bones she had yet to sort and categorize.

Honestly, this was a job for a forensic anthropologist, but her medical background and training in forensic pathology meant that, though she was by no means an expert, she was the person best suited to the task among the available personnel. There certainly were no certified forensic anthropologists in Dudley, Arkansas, nor would the cost of bringing one in be justified until further along in the investigative process, so it was left to her to do the best she could in the meantime. She lowered herself to the floor once again, in front of the pile of unsorted bones, and got back to work.

Not long after, Mulder popped his head into the morgue. “I’m not finding what I need online. I’m gonna head over to the public library and see if I have more luck there.”

“Anything I can help you with?”

He shrugged. “Not unless you know anything about ritualistic practices in Brazil and Melanesia. You’re not holding out on me, are you, Scully?” He chuckled in response to her arched brow. “Didn’t think so. I’ll be back in a little while.”

An hour passed, and then another. She had isolated four more femur pairs, plus three unmatched femurs whose mates were probably still at the bottom of the creek. The smaller bones she had separated by type and was trying to group into complete skeletons, but the coffee from earlier had long since worn off. The metatarsals in front of her kept blurring out of focus, and if she didn’t take a break and have a nap, she was going to get sloppy.

The sheriff and three of his deputies entered the morgue then, each of them carrying a large tote filled with more remains. Scully’s eyes widened, and she made a decision there and then that it was time for a break. She stood, shakily, and Sheriff Arens looked at her with concern.

“Everything all right, Agent Scully?”

“I’m fine, sheriff, but I was wondering if I could impose on you or one of your deputies for a ride back over to the motel. My partner has taken our rental, and I’m not sure when he’ll be back.” 

“Why, sure, no trouble at all,” Arens said. “I can take you myself. Come on, then.”

She scribbled a note to Mulder, grabbed her coat, and followed the sheriff to his car. It was only a few miles, but Scully had to fight to stay awake on the drive. The sheriff dropped her off with an offer to bring her back whenever she was ready. She let herself in her room, kicked off her heels with a groan, and collapsed on the bed, asleep within moments.

She woke nearly five hours later, momentarily disoriented until she realized the chirping sound that had awoken her was the cell phone trilling in her coat pocket. The room spun when she sat up, evidence that she probably could have continued sleeping for several hours more, and she cast around groggily until she managed to extract her phone.

“Scully.”

“Hey, where are you?”

She yawned. “I’m still at the motel. Didn’t you see my note?”

“Oh. I must’ve missed it. What are you doing at the motel?”

“Mulder, I was up for nearly 30 hours. I needed some sleep.” She sighed, rubbing her face. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I think so. I’ve got Danny cross-referencing some records for me, and the results are already pretty interesting. How soon can you get back here?”

She looked at the clock. It was already late afternoon, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. “I got a ride here from Sheriff Arens. You want to come get me in about 20 minutes?” 

“I need to wait here for a fax. I’ll have the sheriff send someone.”

He hung up without further comment, and Scully shook her head, sighing again. There was a supermarket across the street from the motel; she probably had time to grab a sandwich before her ride got there. Groaning, she rose from the bed and, with a wistful glance toward the shower and her suitcase full of clean clothes, headed out the door.

She was just finishing the last of her sandwich, standing on the sidewalk in front of the motel, when the sheriff pulled up to the curb. She opened the passenger side door, surprised to see the seat occupied by a huge bucket of fried Chaco chicken. Sheriff Arens smiled broadly.

“Thought you might be hungry, so I picked that up for you on the way.”

“I-- thanks, sheriff.” Oh well. Maybe Mulder would want it.


End file.
